Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio’s coming down this walk; he has been yonder i’ the sun practising behaviour to his own shadow this half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him.

I have said too much unto a heart of stone, And laid mine honour too unchary on it: There’s something in me that reproves my fault; But such a headstrong potent fault it is That it but mocks reproof.